Warrior of Light
by fastwriter25
Summary: Harry is an average wizard with extraordinary troubles. He needs to become a warrior of the light to save the innocent, defend the weak, and above all defeat Voldemort. But can he survive the teachings of a thousand year old guru from India?


Warrior of Light

Chapter One

The sky was grey. Number Four Privet Drive looked abandoned. It's lawn was unkempt: there were weeds growing, and the little garden surrounding a tall redwood tree in front of the house was growing unruly. It had never looked like this before. The neighbors were worried and afraid for the Dursleys. After a few weeks of this abandonment and not seeing the Dursleys ever come out, they decided to investigate. First Mrs. Dosh knocked on the door. Three loud knocks. Nobody answered. Then she stepped back, puzzled, and looked to the driveway where Mr. Dursley's Ford was parked, looking as pristine as the time he had bought it a month ago.

She turned and returned back to her home, and immediately called her friend who lived three houses down from the Dursleys. The word reached throughout the neighborhood, and nobody knew where the Dursleys were. It was as if they had vanished. Mrs. Dosh called the police, and they got a court order for entry on the basis of disappearance. Inside the house, in a little closet under the stairs, they found the Dursleys: Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley. Dead. When the coroner examined the bodies, she was very puzzled. There were no marks on the body. The apparent cause of death was a mystery. She had never had such a case before. It made headlines in Surrey.

In Hogwarts, Harry Potter started his sixth year with a bright smile. Strange, considering his godfather had died only a few months ago. Dumbledore was confused at Harry's behavior: he avoided his friends, and spent most of his time in the library. He read all kinds of strange books, picked randomly across a wide range of subjects. His marks in his classes dropped tremendously. The teachers saw that Harry wasn't doing his work anymore, or rather, doing it in a careless manner. They were worried, especially Mrs. McGonagall, who thought that the lack of interest in transfiguration stemmed from depression due to Sirius's death. She told Dumbledore her speculations, and Dumbledore said he would have a private talk with Harry.

At breakfast, Fawkes appeared in a ball of flame. All the students were amazed at seeing the phoenix. Harry looked up and scowled. Fawkes dropped a note in front of Harry and then flew away in a blaze of fire. Harry picked up the note, unfolded it, and read it quickly:

Harry, meet me for a cup of tea this afternoon. You are excused from Potions. –Dumbledore

Ron was sitting next to Harry. He looked over his friend's shoulder and read the note. "Harry, Professor Dumbledore's pretty worried about you," he said. Harry didn't reply. He had been ignoring his friends for weeks, giving them the silent treatment. Ron scowled. He got up, leaving his plate half empty, and stormed away. Harry turned his neck and watched his best friend go, thinking: 'It's better for them this way, even though I am a bit lonely. This will keep them safe.' He saw Hermione glaring at him from the corner of his eye. Harry pretended not to notice. He tried to enjoy his pancakes. They tasted like cardboard.

His next class was charms with Flitwick. Harry picked his book bag, slung it over his shoulder and started walking to the stairwell. As he trudged up the stairs, not the least bit interested in charms, he thought about his plans. He needed to learn, and learn fast. Everything he could learn to find this unknown power that the prophecy talked about.

But he had found something interesting in the library, a little tidbit of information in a giant tome of magic, in the occlumency section: 'Meditation can help clear the mind, something essential toward the practice of…'

Harry had heard the word somewhere before, and he looked it up in the dictionary. The dictionary had an example of meditation: concentrate on taking deep breaths. Harry tried it for fifteen minutes the night before and he had gotten the best night of sleep since the incident at the Department of Mysteries. He had no nightmares about Sirius, nor any visions of Voldemort. He was feeling fresh and healthy again.

When he entered the charms room, he realized he was late. He didn't care. Professor Flitwick narrowed his eyes, but did not say anything. Perhaps he knew about Sirius, perhaps he didn't. Harry was more concerned about what he was going to read tonight in the library. He knew that the readings would not help much but he had to do something to keep busy, and to keep from being lonely or depressed. It sucked to have no friends. But he could not let anybody get close to him. Voldemort would know and target them.

He was snapped out of his reverie when Flitwick shouted, "Harry! What's the three theories of gases in relation to the levitation of inanimate objects."

Harry shook his head and stared down at the desk. He hadn't read the homework the night before. He was sure that his studies would not help him in the least, not regular school studies anyways. He had enough experience with real fighting to know that all this school stuff was useless. And as for the future? He didn't care about getting a good job. Voldemort was more important.

He barely heard Flitwick say, "Thirty points off Gryffindor." He didn't feel the glares of his classmates. He stared at the brown cloth of his book bag and the pattern of the dragon on it. He had gotten it as a gift in fourth year after the first task. Ludo Bagman had given it to him, Harry remembered. He suddenly had an idea, an ephiphany, and he got up in his seat. The class was practicing levitating animate objects in groups of three – and of course Harry wasn't in a group – and they all stopped at once when Harry started to run out of the classroom. "Where are you going?" Flitwick asked, but Harry didn't reply.

Harry raced down to the owlery and jotted a letter.

_Dear Mr. Bagman, _

_I remember your kindness in my fourth year when I was in the triwizard tournament. I have a favor to ask you, and I'm willing to pay. If you are interested, write back._

_Yours truly,_

_Harry P. _

He took it to Hedwig, stroked her on the neck a bit, and told her, "Take it to Ludo Bagman, girl, and hurry."

She hooted and sped off. Harry watched her fly into the distance. When she was over the horizon and had disappeared, he had a sudden wave of nausea and all at once, he vomited his breakfast on the floor. His scar throbbed with pain. He fell to the ground – not in the puddle of vomit thankfully – and received a vision.

Voldemort was standing in the middle of a circle of kneeling death eaters. He was angry, and shouting: "What is the meaning of this… failure?" The way he hissed the words sent sparks of pain through his followers' dark marks. They were terrified of him. "I told you to bring me the Book of the Damned and you say… you say… You cannot get past a few measly defenses by goblins of all creatures?" Then Voldemort stood frozen still, and Harry felt the dark lord's gaze upon him. "Ah… Harry Potter," Voldemort said, "What a delightful visit…"

Then the vision disappeared in a wave of pain. Harry was not aware of how loud he was screaming. His eyes were bleeding. Blood was spurting out of his nose and mouth and there was so much pain in his scar that he just wanted to die right then and there. He saw the open window where the owls flew out. It was big enough for him to step on the windowsill and jump off. As he was about to do so, Dumbledore ran into the room. He was wearing a white robe, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy. "Harry!" He shouted, and pointed his wand and said: "Legilimens!"

The pain stopped. All at once, it stopped, and Harry felt relief. At that moment he loved Dumbledore, and forgot all about Sirius. "Harry, we need to get you to the infirmary."

"I-I'm alright, sir."

Dumbledore looked extremely concerned. "Come to my office then. We can have the cup of tea right now." Harry nodded. "I daresay you need it more than I do…"

"I do," Harry said, "I'm tired, and I'm… I feel…" He was horrified to find himself crying – his shoulders started shaking and tears started falling, making little rivers through the blood. Dumbledore put his arms around Harry. They hugged, and Harry cried, and Dumbledore awkwardly patted his back, saying, "There there…"

They walked slowly to the office. Classes were in session, there was nobody in the hallways. The gargoyles guarding Dumbledore's office moved out of the way without a word, and Dumbledore helped Harry up the stairs.

With a cup of tea in his trembling arms, Harry started talking. He just talked and talked and let everything off his chest. Every single thought and feeling. It was as if he were an outsider watching himself talk and talk. He told Dumbledore about how he tried to enstrange himself from Ron and Hermione and how he tried to find the "power the dark lord knows not" by reading random books, hoping on luck and chance to stumble upon some secret. Harry let everything pour out about how he loved Hogwarts and how he hated the Dursleys and how he wished they were dead, and he failed to notice Dumbledore's alarmed expression. Harry went on about how he always wanted parents – real parents – and how he knew James and Lily weren't drunks or failures deep in his heart even though the Vernon and Petunia always insisted it was so. And how much he hated being famous, having the scar, and… and…

Until his throat was so sore he couldn't say anymore. Dumbledore watched with a kind expression on his face, and finally, after taking a long sip of his tea, he said, "I'm sorry."

Harry looked up at Dumbledore. He felt utterly miserable. And his faced showed, because Dumbledore said, "Don't give up hope Harry. There are always better things in life just waiting to arrive, if you let it."

And at that moment Fawkes flew from his perch onto Harry's shoulder. He started to sing a phoenix song, slow, melodious, sad and joyful at the same time. Harry was filled with hope and happiness like never before – an euphoria almost.

"What should I do, professor…? I'm at the end of my rope," Harry said, but he wasn't feeling so bad anymore.

Dumbledore nodded, and a silence came between them. It was comfortable, reassuring, until Dumbledore said, "The Dursleys are dead."

Harry jerked his head up, "What?"

"Did you kill them Harry?"

Harry said, "No, of course not! Why what happened-"

"Harry," Dumbledore was as calm as could be, "I am an expert occlumens. I, like Voldemort, know when somebody is lying to me."

Harry's expression cracked, and again he started sobbing. But dry sobs this time, with no tears. Fawkes crooned sadly.

After a while, Harry said, "I didn't mean to, I just… I got out of control and I-"

"Fawkes trusts you." Dumbledore said. "I trust you. You are a good person and-"

The room melted. Harry felt his scar start hurting again with a greater intensity than even in the owlery. He found himself in front of a hut on top of the mountain.

Voldemort was standing on the wild tufts of grass beside the hut. "Harry Potter," he said, "You have caused me so much trouble. But I won't kill you. There are worse things than death…"

Voldemort faded away. Intense pain filled every part of Harry, both mind, body, and spirit. He couldn't think anymore. This time Dumbledore wasn't there to save him. This time he was all alone.


End file.
